Three-3
599 Words
Jake had followed his instincts into a lot of places, some dangerous, some boring, some that led nowhere, though most of the time they led him right where he needed to go. He had good instincts, accepted them as a gift from God, the same way he did the desire for hunting that Phoebe had so neatly nailed.
What kept him sniffing until he was certain there was nothing left to smell—well, that was sometimes gift, sometimes curse, depending on the situation. The fact was he couldn’t stop going forward until he got what he was after. It was the way he was. He’d put his life on the line, come close to losing it more times than he admitted to his mom, but this—Phoebe—was uncharted territory for him.
Not the desire, he knew about desire, knew how to channel it into less dangerous byways before it got out of hand. Now his instincts were broadcasting a warning he didn’t want to hear.
He wanted her, not the fugitive she might lead him to. Alone in the truck, he could admit it, could admit that something about her made him want to try a different kind of hunting—the kind a man did when he met the one woman exactly right for him.
He could feel lust drawing him off the scent, beckoning him to try this new direction, despite the question marks hovering over her. Some blanks he could fill in. Her mother was a drunk who’d probably been knocked around by her dad. She sang and played guitar in a honky-tonk band, talked tough while retaining the air of a lady. Had a good brain, great verbal skills, despite the fact she’d apparently run away from home before graduating. Married too young, divorced too young, but still on good terms with her ex.
And she managed the highly suspect JR’s.
None of it added up. Yet.
Phoebe didn’t lend herself to a straightforward equation, like two plus two equals four. No, she was an algorithm of unknowns, where y was a lot of questions and x stood for something he shouldn’t be feeling. He was afraid the final equation could be…explosive.
He picked up his cell phone and punched in Matt’s office number. His brother was assigned to the Denver office of the U.S. Marshals Service and could give him access to the kind of information he needed to clear the lust out of his head. Their different investigative styles sometimes caused friction, but that didn’t stop Jake from calling when he needed help. When his brother answered, Jake asked, “Don’t you ever go home to your wife?”
“She’s gone until tomorrow.” Matt’s voice had an undertone of contentment that Jake still wasn’t used to hearing coming from his tough big brother. His marriage to the romance writer he’d been assigned to guard last year had changed Matt, Jake decided. Happiness had actually sharpened his instincts. After all, he had Dani waiting at home.
“Tomorrow is today,” Jake said after glancing at the clock on the dash.
“Cut the crap, Jake. You find anything?”
Matt had been particularly derisive about Jake’s lead. Figured it for a cold dead end. He still wasn’t sure what it was, but cold and dead it was not, he thought, thinking about Phoebe. “Maybe. You find anything when you ran JR’s under the big microscope?”
Matt was quiet a moment. “Maybe.”
Jake sighed. Matt hated being wrong. Too bad Jake had wanted him to be right this time. Because if JR’s was dirty, then so was Phoebe.
“ Give me what you got.”
“I got nothing but suspicious indicators right now. Got my best guy hound-dogging it for you.”
“Appreciate it.”
“No problem. You coming in to my office tomorrow?”
“Not until the afternoon.”
“What are you doing in the morning?”
“Applying for a job.” Jake grinned and broke the connection.
- Writer
